Confessions
by Belen Trujillo
Summary: Sherlock is living in a hotel and he receives a call from a mysterious consulting criminal. After Reichenbach!


Sherlock received a call while having tea.

It's Sherlock Holmes. Who's there?

Meet me at the abandoned candy factory. You've been there before – a evil laughter came from the other side of the phone.

You like a lot these kind of places. See you there.

He left the cup of tea in the table and put his coat on. It was starting to rain.

He took a taxi to go to the factory. In the silence of the building, Sherlock tried to hear something strange but it seemed like none was there except some random rat. Sherlock was cold and looked a bit sick. He tried not to make much noise while walking because he wanted to notice any movement inside the factory.

He arrived to an office. There was a burning candle on the desk. And James Moriarty was sitting behind it.

It's been a time, Sherlock Holmes. Why aren't you asking me why I'm alive yet?

I'm figuring it out.

Unlike you, I'm 100% dead for the people. Only you and another person know that I'm alive. In your case, there are people that are waiting for a miracle. Like…John.

Hearing John's name made Sherlock feel a bit annoyed.

You look sick, Sherlock. Aw, when was the last time you had a good meal? And John can't take care of you because you are _dead_. Poor lonely Sherlock.

Sherlock ignored him. He was deducing while looking at the other man from head to shoes.

He had breakfast one hour. Only a coffee. Hair is a bit messy. A _tiny love mark _on the neck. Someone didn't want James Moriarty to leave _him_.

What about you? – Said Sherlock, quietly – Seems like there is someone alone at your house now.

Now you care about my personal life, Sherlock? You are getting boring! But I can't talk. Unlike you, I have a life. I'd say… a normal life. I didn't think I'd say this. You had John and now I have my own _friend_.

Then I wasn't wrong the first time we met.

The consulting criminal laughed.

Very intelligent, now and then. He looks like _your _John. He was in the army too. At the end, we are not very different.

Moriarty came closer to Sherlock.

What do you want? I didn't come here to talk about you _love life_ – he sighed.

Mmm, yeah, I almost forget it. Your brother has told me that you are planning to return to Baker Street soon, is it true?

Why should I tell you?

Because if you are alive again, I can be too. And I wouldn't like policemen to start looking for me. However, I can hide, you don't. I don't exist to people, remember? You are a liar to them. Fake!

So what? Then I wouldn't tell anyone about you. You don't have to worry, I'll kill you by myself.

Ha. As I sad, I'm never alone. I'm sure my _friend _is here too. He likes to take care of me. Oh, I think John and my friend could be friends…

Don't meet John.

He is only yours? Or you think so?

He is not… - he stopped. Sherlock didn't like to talk about John with that person.

He is not. He's been talking with a woman lately. Another doctor. He's so alone – told naughtily.

I'm coming back to Baker Street soon, yes, Can I leave now?

One second. What if your flatmate doesn't want you to return? He has learned to have his own life without you. He can date other people in the nigh, go to work in the morning and feed a dog in the afternoon.

A dog? I didn't kno…

Haha, yes. He's so pathetic he has adopted a dog abd called it "Ham". Ridiculous. So if you can't go back to Baker Street…

Suddenly, James Moriarty, the consulting criminal, held Sherlock face between his hands and gave him a long kiss and, surprisingly, Sherlock kissed back. Moriarty smiled like an evil child.

…you know you can call me, Sherlock.

And he left. Sherlock was confused and he thought about that conversation (and the kiss) while coming back to the hotel, having a walk. But without a reason, he stood in front of his old flat. He could hear a dog running across the house and John shouting: "Come here, Ham! Here's your food".

Sherlock smiled, remembering. He wrote a note for John and left it in the post pox.

"Next Thursday. At Angelo's. 19pm"


End file.
